


Bold, beautiful choices

by juldevere



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juldevere/pseuds/juldevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hadn’t been his initial plan - to surprise her by meeting her at the airport; an act he previously flat out disapproved of and labeled as ‘disgustingly impersonal’. An act romantics did. And he, Donald Alexander Thomas Keefer, was no romantic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bold, beautiful choices

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there. This was my newsroom secret santa gift for cmmlovr over on tumblr and I'd thought I'd post it here too. Enjoy!

* * *

Don fidgets with his watch, tapping on the glass frame; it had a habit lately of either slowing down, speeding up or flat out stopping altogether. Sloan had chided him for not bothering to do something about it but he had merely shrugged it off. The watch had been his grandfathers and though it had been around even as far back as when Don was a little boy, passed off to him when his grandfather had died, almost 5 years ago now, it seemed the thing was finally on its last legs.

He fishes for his phone in the back pocket of his jeans instead; a much more reliable source – and why really he didn’t seem too hurried to have the watch replaced. It was more an item of sentimentality, something he could look at throughout the day and be reminded of his grandfather. A man he had bonded with far greater than any in his life. A man who had often reminded him to wholeheartedly stand by what he believed in and to own his choices – to make bold ones.

Which was probably the reason behind why he was standing in the arrivals section of the LaGuardia airport on a Friday night: a bold choice.

Don checks the time on his phone for what will now be the 16th time since arriving to the airport almost half an hour ago. Her plane was scheduled to come in at 11:45 and it was now exactly midnight. The last text message he had received from her was a quick send off just after she had boarded.

_Hi. I’m in my seat and I’m turning my phone off because you’re not here to tell me otherwise and you know, I believe in staying alive. I’ll see you at home, mister. I think I missed you. A lot. See you soon._

He had rolled his eyes amidst a chuckle and furiously typed back a reply in time for her to see it before powering off.

_Hey lady, it’s off for flying, on for landings. My logic is airtight. We gotta work on this. I think I missed you a lot too. More than a lot. Mac’s sick of me calling her Sloan. Elliot too. Apparently I just haven’t been myself this week, weird huh? See you soon, babe._

It hadn’t been his initial plan - to surprise her by meeting her at the airport; an act he previously flat out disapproved of and labeled as ‘disgustingly impersonal’. An act romantics did. And he, Donald Alexander Thomas Keefer, was no romantic.

And yet 10 months into dating Sloan, a change had subtly, somewhat profoundly, occurred. He no longer thought himself as a separate, sole, unit: prior to practically every decision he made now or action he took, he would think of the ramifications it might have either on Sloan or on their relationship. He paid acute attention to the things she liked and to the things she didn’t; to the way her voice sounded early in the morning, slow and sleepy. Mornings with Sloan - after experiencing his first one - instantly became one of his favorite times; she was less tactical, more fluid and completely unguarded in the morning. He had never heard her giggle once in all the years they had known one another at work but Sloan? Total morning giggler and he never got enough of it echoing in her kitchen, echoing in his ears long after they had left the house.

And the biggest change, that hadn’t really been a change at all so much as it was a gift really, that even after a day of seeing her across the hallway or finding her in his office, casually poking his head through her doorway for no particular reason other than to say, “Hi. How’s it going?” Because it had been hours since they had seen one another let alone spoken - going home with her at the end of it all, regardless of the type of day it might’ve been, euphoric, troubling, wearing – only ever made him feel happy. He was connected to something: to her. Seamed, aligned, whatever you wanted to call it: love, really. He was deeply in love with her and this, although scaring the living shit out of him also made him feel exceedingly content. And changed. He was a changed, very much in love, man.

So here he was. Making bold choices. Turning into one of the romantic schmucks he would often snort at and make fun of. Surprising his girlfriend by picking her up at the airport because being away from her for 5 days had stung in ways he couldn’t even really articulate. He had walked around the office in a fog, accidentally calling multiple people, including Mac and Elliot, ‘Sloan’ and although his worked hadn’t suffered, he felt tremendously uninterested by anything he had been doing all week.

He had missed her, ridiculously so. The decision to leave his office that night and go to the airport rather than to her apartment to meet her was made quickly and effortlessly, perhaps because it had been his decision all along.

Don startles when his phone buzzes, alerting him to a text:

_Just landed. Yes I waited to turn it back on. I saw your so called logic, Keefer and I raised it with safety. Ha. Aren’t you glad I’m home? I’ll see you in about an hour_

He swallows methodically, suddenly feeling very, very nervous.

 _Logic 0, Safety 1,_ he types as a response, struggling… _See you soon._

Or maybe this was excitement? He couldn’t tell. He re-reads her text before slipping the phone back into his pocket; now sticking a hand through his hair, as if doing so would magically elevate the worry in his heart. Was it worry? His stomach was somewhere in his throat. No. Not worry, anticipation? Perhaps. They had been decidedly taking things slow and steady, but things between them were progressing so naturally and organically of their own accord. He had met her mother just last month because Sloan had briefly mentioned one morning that she was in town and Don casually asked if he could tag along for lunch. Like having lunch with Sloan’s mother was a very normal and wonderful thing for someone who has never met Sloan’s mother nor anyone related to Sloan for that matter, to do. But it felt normal and wonderful. This, what he had with her, felt so assured and relaxed and familiar. Heck, he wanted to meet her entire family. It felt so good, all the time. Even when they fought, however much they were just petty bickers. Just, it felt so _good_ with her.

So of course he wanted to surprise her at the airport after only a week apart.

Don crosses his arms over his chest, tucking in his hands beneath his armpits, keeping his thumbs sticking out; his hands were beginning to tremble, he had to hold them somehow, prevent the shake from slinking off into other parts of his body.

He starts to pace and lets the time pass by people-watching and ignoring though counting like they were sheep, the alerts of emails coming in on his phone. His heart sprinting and thumping heavily all the while. More and more people start to tunnel out towards the baggage claim area and he shuffles his feet and stares out into the sea of faces, finding quickly, the way it happens in those movies, just one. She’s moving at a rapid speed, juggling her bags – even without her checked luggage, she had three – while simultaneously checking her phone. She hasn’t spotted him but he keeps his eyes on her until, finally, she catches his eyes when she looks up to locate what he knows is the number of the baggage carousel.

Three people almost bump into her she stops so drastically; a soft, small, shy smile blooming into a wide grin on her face and it takes everything in him, everything, he cannot possibly run towards her, to keep his legs at a walking pace but the crash is inevitable all the same as the gap closes between them.

They come together in a flurry of relief; arms wrap around shoulders tightly, hands at backs of necks and he’s holding her close, pressed to his chest and people need to swerve around them but he doesn’t give a shit. He looks like an idiot but she’s here and he’s holding her and it’s so wonderfully terrifying, how real this is. That picking her up at the airport and surprising her is the shadow covering his urge to ask her to move in with him knowing full well what asking her to move in with him meant.

Sloan pulls back after a moment and he tries his hardest not to kiss her, sliding his arms beneath her shoulders and around her back instead; he’s not sure how 5 days had felt like a fucking year, or how they’ll ever possibly be able to do this again, it almost pains him to even think about it, but she’s here and everything else doesn’t matter.

“The man in the seat next to me asked me where I was coming from and when he found out I was an economist, wouldn’t stop asking me questions the whole flight. I helped him balance his checkbook. His wife of 48 years died just last month and he was feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of having to take care of the books himself when she always handled it. Ain’t that something? Anyway. Hi.”

He’s can’t help it; he leans right in and kisses the side of her face, and then her lips ever so gently, keeping the smile on his, God help him, he’s so helplessly in love with the idea of her someday balancing their checkbooks and it’s only been 10 months. He never thought of the future with Maggie; he thought of them in days, celebrated whenever they made it to the end of another week without breaking up. He never thought of the future – the future next existed between their bed sheets. But against Sloan’s cheek, the warmth of her skin, everything between them, the days that had just been, he thinks of it, clear as day, and wants it. As scary as all hell that it is, he wants a future with her.

“Hi there.” He chuckles fondly, taking the handle of her carry-on suitcase that she was passing off and slinging an arm around her shoulder, guiding them towards the direction of the correct carousel.

“You met me at the airport, you sneak.”

“I did and guilty.” He confirms with a curt nod and squeezes her shoulder for good measure. They quickly fetch her other bags and head for the exit; he feels her lips at his hand as she kisses it and then her fingers wrapping around his wrist, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’m home. I _missed_ you, much much more than a lot.” She says with a sigh and he’s so glad he listened to his grandfather.

Bold choices were beautiful, beautiful things.


End file.
